R O B I N B U R C E L L . C O M
She lived in a white Victorian with yellow trim, a fortune of property and no apparent heirs. We walked around to the front and as we ascended the porch steps, the door opened a crack, Mrs. Maze undoubtedly peeking out at us. I pulled out my gold star. “I’m Inspector Gillespie,” I said. “And this is my partner, Inspector Markowski.”
The door opened farther, revealing a petite woman, her face a network of interlocking wrinkles and her long white hair swept into a spinster bun. Dressed in a pink housecoat, she held a flashlight in one hand, its weak beam the only light.
“Shhh,” she said, putting her finger over her lips. “They’re back there.”
“Who?” I asked.
“The spies. Hurry. Before they leave.”
She motioned us inside, shut the door behind us, then pointed the beam down the hallway, the dim light bouncing off hundreds of tiny glittering eyes. Harriet Maze had a teddy bear collection that filled up every crevice, shelf and seat cushion in her house, leaving very little space to walk. In the dark, the eyes seemed to follow us, an eerie sensation. No wonder the woman thought she was being spied on.
She led us into her kitchen, on past the white-enameled oven. A faint scent of something sweet and citrus filled the air. Switching off her flashlight, she pointed out the window toward the alley. “There,” she said triumphantly. “Do you see them? The spies?”
Rocky cleared his throat, and I took a deep breath. This was our main witness? “Those are officers, ma’am. Crime scene investigators who are out there because you reported a stabbing.”
“Of course they are,” she snapped. “I’m not talking about them. I’m talking about the spies inside that building where they make the sausage. They know I’m on to them.” She gave me an accusing look, then paused. “Don’t you have a brother on the force? You look just like him. Dark eyes, dark hair. I know I told him about this. He would have believed me. Such a nice young man,” she added, shaking her head.
Rocky and I exchanged glances, and I figured he thought the same thing I did. Alzheimer’s. Even so, I was touched that Mrs. Maze seemed to remember Sean so kindly, despite that he’d been dead these past twelve years.
“About the stabbing?” I reminded her. “You saw kids back there?”
“Kids. Hmmph.” She patted a stack of political flyers on the yellow Formica table. “Democrats is more like it. They’re after these.”
“The kids?” Rocky and I asked simultaneously.
“The spies. Who do you think? They want these campaign secrets. They’ve moved their headquarters to that sausage plant right there.” She pointed to City Sausage and Meat through her window. “They park that darned truck back there on purpose, leave it running all the time. You can hear it now.” As if on cue, the truck’s refrigeration unit kicked on. Nothing like adding fuel to her fire. She nodded sharply. “There, you see! They’ll stop at nothing to win. I’m afraid to leave my house for fear they’ll break in. Especially after what happened the other night.”
“What was that?” I asked, resigning myself to the fact that she was never going to give us the information we came for.
“They were robbed. I was in the kitchen grating lemon peels for my lemon squares, when I thought I saw someone climbing in their window. Well, let me tell you,” she said narrowing her eyes and planting her hands on her hips. “Those hoodlums, it just makes me sick the way they throw bottles at my back fence whenever they walk in my alley.”
“Hoodlums?” Rocky asked her.
“Yes. You know the ones. They dress in those football jackets and black baggy pants. Well, I went out to tell them that I was fed up with their nonsense and that I was calling the police. I was frightened near to death when I saw someone climbing in their window.”
“Whose window?” I asked, thinking that at last she was back on track with the gang activity.
“The sausage place. They got away before I could call the police, and I just know they’ll blame it on the Republicans, and quite possibly come after me.”
“The hoodlum boys?” I asked.
“Heavens, no,” came her exasperated reply. “The Democrats. They’ll think I’m on to them, that I was the one to break into their headquarters.”
“I can see why you’d be concerned,” Rocky said, “what with elections coming up in the next few months.”
I wanted to kick him. Instead I tried to guide Mrs. Maze back to the homicide. “You reported to the officer that you saw the stabbing.”
“And that’s exactly what I’ve been telling you,” she said, shaking her finger at me.
“I need a unit to clear,” came a dispatcher’s voice on Rocky’s radio. “Vehicle four-five-nine in progress.”
That was as close to divine intervention as I could get. We were about a block away from the location given by the dispatcher, so I volunteered our services, hoping it might be related to the homicide in the alley. Maybe one of the suspects was hiding while he waited for the cops to clear the area. I smiled apologetically to Mrs. Maze and grabbed Rocky’s radio. “Someone’s trying to break into a car. We have to go.”
“Oh.” Suddenly she looked lonely and very much her age. “Well, let me pack you some cookies for the road.”
“Only wish we had time,” I said, as she picked up a plate filled with lemon squares.
Rocky grabbed two, and to be polite, I took one myself. “Thanks,” I said, handing her my card as we left. “Call if you think of anything else you’ve forgotten.”